


Heart & Hearth

by FairyTrashMother



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Fisting, M/M, Oral Sex, Partner Swapping, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, This is just a lot of porn you guys, tags to be updated as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25036360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyTrashMother/pseuds/FairyTrashMother
Summary: Some Witchers went out on the Path and faced the horrors of the world. Some stayed safe at home, teaching the children and keeping the fires warm and the beds made, the pantry full. It made sense, then, that they should also offer Witchers returning from the Path other, more physical comforts. Some offered massage, some offered restful, platonic touch and gentle fingers carding through hair, and some offered more.This is a story aboutmore.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert/Vesemir, Eskel/Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir, Lambert/Vesemir
Comments: 143
Kudos: 287
Collections: Polyamorous Relationships For the Win





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This started because Vesemir always gets left out of the "Jaskier comes to Kaer Morhen and fucks his way through the winter" fics, and that must be terribly lonely. Several thousand words later, I have a multi-chapter, very filthy porn fic and pretty much no excuse. But you read the tags and clicked the link anyway, so neither do you.
> 
> This is un-beta'd, all mistakes are my own. I've got about six chapters written, and I'll post as things are completed. Let me know if there's anything else that needs to be tagged for.

Kaer Morhen was a place of tradition. There was an order to things, a rhythm to life that made it make sense. While the world changed too quickly, while humans were fickle, and while little was certain, the Witchers of Kaer Morhen always knew where they stood when they came home.

Kaer Morhen was also a place of respite. There was little warmth or comfort on the Path. Humans were stingy with coin and food, and almost never offered a warm bed or rarer still a warm body without the promise of that hard earned coin back. Witchers addressed this problem with the straight forward logic that they approached everything. Some Witchers went out on the Path and faced the horrors of the world. Some stayed safe at home, teaching the children and keeping the fires warm and the beds made and the pantry full. It made sense, then, that they should also offer Witchers returning from the Path other, more physical comforts. Some offered massage, some offered restful, platonic touch and gentle fingers carding through hair, and some offered more.

Vesemir had usually offered food and the presence of a second body in bed. Any Witcher that wanted to crawl into his bed would be met with open arms and a broad, firm chest. To many Witchers there was little that felt more like home than Vesemir’s scent, his warmth, the low burr of his voice while he held a massive and firm hand on the back of their necks. And sometimes, usually in the morning, he could be persuaded to put those hands elsewhere, his grip still firm and gentle, his voice still low and grounding. On very rare occasions, if the year had been particularly rough, the injuries and rejections particularly bad, he might offer more still.

As much as it benefited his Witchers, it benefited him, too. It was one thing to know that the men he trained, the men he’d helped shape, the men he loved in his own way had made it home. It was another to know, to feel the strength in them, to feel their hearts beat and hear their breath in his ear. To taste them, feel them move in him, or to move in them. To know that they knew to their bones that they had something to look forward to at home. To know that they knew that they were loved, if not out there, then at least here.

The pogroms were- There weren’t words to express how hard they were. The first year after them, when all the remaining wolves gathered, there was no tradition for that. Because there were those that went out on the Path, those who suffered and were alone, those who needed the comforts of home, but. There was barely a home, and the one (only one now) who stayed had spent a year burying their brothers, their friends, their children. He could get a fire going and gather the remaining beds and wash the smoke and charred flesh smell from sheets, but he alone could not make this a whole home, not yet, not alone. It became rapidly apparent after the initial greetings, the first nights, that he could not go on that way. He could not offer what hope and comfort he himself did not possess, not all winter.

That year, the remaining wolves sat together in the ruins of their keep and forged a new tradition, together. Until mid-winter, all of the Witchers sought comfort from Vesemir and each other as pleased them, and since Vesemir would stay come spring, the wolves agreed that they would offer the same comforts back before they left. After mid-winter, any need, any whim, any fancy, he need only ask, because now there were the ones who walked the Path, and the _one_ who didn’t. 

Word spread. Any Witcher was welcomed at Kaer Morhen, so said Vesemir. Word also spread that any Witcher who sought succor at the Kaer must return it in kind. Repairs and supplies bought a roof and hot meals. And if they wanted more, wanted a balm for their loneliness, they had until mid-Winter to do so, and until the snow melted to return the favor in kind.


	2. Eskel Comes Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel is the first to make it home, this season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your consideration: Eskel/Vesemir porn

Eskel was the first to return this year. He made his way up the path with heavy footsteps, weary to his bones. It didn’t look like it had been any rougher than any other year, but that didn’t mean it had been easy. A hot bath, a good sleep in a warm, clean bed, and a good meal, in whatever order Eskel chose and he’d be leagues better. 

Stepping into the courtyard to greet his fellow Witcher he felt his shoulders loosening, grin spreading across his face. Eskel strode across the courtyard with his arms wide. Vesemir mirrored the gesture, and Eskel walked straight into his, burying his face in Vesemir’s throat and collapsing into the hug.

Vesemir held him tight, content to stand there as long as Eskel needed to drop the weight of a year’s worth of his emotional baggage. The keep was massive, but there was no room for the weight of the world in there, not in the haven that Vesemir spent most of the year carving out for them. Slowly, after long moments, Eskel rubbed his face under Vesemir’s chin, grumbling contentedly, and only then did Vesemir pull back. “Alright, inside, your room is warmed up, your sheets are changed, and dinner will be ready soon enough. What order do you want them in?”

Eskel scrubbed a hand across his face and huffed a half laugh. “Ugh, gods. Let me put my things away, and then maybe a bath and a hot meal?” 

Vesemir nodded. “Go, see to your horse, unload the supplies, and I’ll get one on for you.” With that he turned and headed back to keep to see to it. Before, in the old tradition, Witchers bathed communally in the massive bathing room, with water from a massive copper rain barrel that they could heat and pour into huge wooden tubs. Only guests, mages, and senior Witchers had the luxury of a private tub. Now it made more sense for the surviving Witchers to wait to heat the communal tank until everyone was home for the season, and worry about individual baths as needed. It would have also made sense for the surviving Witchers to move into better rooms, but they hadn’t. Only Vesemir, had been senior enough to have his own tub before the- well, Before, and this was where Eskel would be having his bath.

Vesemir hauled the water buckets up two at a time, carefully heating it just hotter than a Witcher likes, and then headed back to the kitchen to bring up two plates of a thick venison stew and fresh baked bread. The sort of comfort food that sticks to the ribs and warms you from the inside out, no matter how hungry you started.

He was just pouring out their ale from the pitcher he kept in the room when Eskel stumbled through the door, pausing to take in the scene with a small, contented smile on his face. “Go on”, Vesemir said, jerking his head towards the chair by the fire, “Boots and clothes off, you can scrub up and then eat while you soak. You can eat stew while you stew yourself.”

Eskel rolled his eyes and began to disrobe, dropping bits and pieces of his armor in a pile. Rolling his eyes fondly, Vesemir knelt to get Eskel’s boot laces, gently sliding the boots off one at a time, taking time to run his hands over muscles made tense from days of walking and riding up the mountain, searching for knots, but not yet massaging them out. By the time Eskel’s hands reached the laces on his breeches he was visibly hardening, his breath coming deep, his pupils blown wide. Vesemir smiled wryly at the other Witcher. “Go on, that’ll keep, the bath and stew won’t.”

With a small sound that could have been a laugh or a groan, Eskel finished undressing and climbed into the tub, while Vesemir brought a small folding table alongside and moved Eskel's dinner there, in arm's reach but still out of the way. Then he definitely groaned as he slipped lower, taking a moment to just enjoy the heat of it all. His head lolled to the side and his eyes slipped closed. “It’s good to be home.”

All he got in response was a hum and the creak of a chair as Vesemir sat and took up his spoon. It was peaceful, then, while Eskel took a slow, luxurious soak and they finished their supper in relative silence. Finally, an eternity and an instant later the water began to cool and Eskel realized he had been dozing. With a flick of his fingers he reheated his bath water and reached for the soap on the lip of the tub.

“You shouldn’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Eskel snorted. “Lambert might, I won’t.” It earned him a frown that didn’t hide the laughter sparking in the other Witcher’s eyes.

“Be nice.” That got him a small, mischievous smile. "Besides, its all fun and games until you've boiled your balls off, and then who's laughing at who?"

"Nobody'd be laughing, my jewels are a treasure."

Now it was Vesemir's turn to snort. "Scrub up, pup." While Eskel began to scrub, Vesemir collected his clothing from the floor to place in a basket by the door for cleaning, but that would be later. For now, he took a towel from where it had been warming beside the fire and handed it to Eskel, who had just finished rinsing and stood. When his body was sufficiently dry, he moved to sit on the chair by the fire with the towel draped over his shoulders so that Vesemir could comb and oil his hair. 

Strong fingers carded through Eskel's hair and felt his body grow even looser in a way that it almost never was, except for when he was here like this. His hair wasn't long enough for real tangles, like Geralt's and it was fine enough that the few he had were easy to get out, but mostly this was about feeling those hands work the tension out of his scalp, his face falling lax. At some point he caught the clink of a jar and a whiff of a neutral oil and knew some was being worked into his hair, his head swaying with the motions of skilled hands, his neck barely bothering to keep him upright. Time took on a bendy quality, and he felt nails scrape deliciously across his scalp and a small tug at his hair, pulling him from where he'd been drifting. "To bed, then?"

Eskel hummed and slowly rose on jellied legs to make his way to the bed. He collapsed face down, grunting as Vesemir shooed him towards the middle of the bed. "Come on, it'll be more comfortable that way." Eskel scooted, and when he was sufficiently rearranged to Vesemir's liking, the older Witcher retrieved a bottle of oil from where it had been warming by the fire. 

Vesemir stripped and threw on a soft pair of sleep pants, tying the cord loosely. They'd likely be off soon anyway, but it was less awkward to straddle a man for a massage when you weren't dragging your balls across his back. 

He did just that, shuffling so that his knees were snug around Eskel's ribs and poured a generous amount of the warmed oil across his shoulders. Eskel made a soft, sleepy sound and nuzzled his face into the pillows as Vesemir got to work spreading the oil in increasingly firm sweeps of his hands, cataloging old knots and new scars. Vesemir got to work massaging out a year's worth of tension, working his way across Eskel's thick neck and broad shoulders, paying attention to the muscles of his arms, gliding down his lower back, then down to his feet to work up his legs, paying attention to those thick thighs and ending with kneading the firm globes of his buttocks. 

This was usually the deciding point. Either Eskel would snuffle sleepily and the massage would end there, the younger Witcher passed out in a puddle of contentment, until he rolled over in the night for cuddles, or his breath would hitch somewhere around mid-thigh and he's spread his legs a little, grind his hardening cock into the mattress, his heart thrumming as all the blood released from his extremities found better use. 

Tonight it was the latter, and Vesemir delighted in slowly pulling the younger Witcher's cheeks apart under the guise of the massage, watching him squirm. Each of his Wolves was different when they were like this. Lambert loved a good massage, a long sleep, and then a vigorous morning fuck before breakfast. Geralt loved gentle decadence, to be thoughtless, to say whatever came to mind without judgement, and have someone else give him whatever he wanted, someone to drive him to the edge and hold him there, to exert control over him, and then bring him back safe. Eskel always wanted romance, a bath, conversation over dinner if he was awake enough, and then slow, gentle lovemaking with as much bodily contact as possible and often deep, prolonged eye contact throughout. 

Telegraphing the move, Vesemir pulled Eskel's cheeks apart and breathed hotly over Eskel's most intimate area. That got him a shiver and a small moan. It's one of those nights, alright. Slowly, tortuously, Vesemir dragged the flat of his tongue across the exposed flesh, relishing the much louder whimper and the sound of Eskel fisting the sheets. He could do this for hours, but he wasn't sure Eskel could go more than once tonight, and if he could only have Vesemir one way, it should be his favorite. Vesemir took a few more slow laps at the pliant Witcher and then reached his still-slick thumb down to rest firmly against his pucker. "Yes?"

Eskel's response came back slurred through tired, pleasure drunk lips. "Gods above, yes."

Vesemir chuckled, rubbing his thumb in firm little circles, applying more pressure on each one until he was just dipping the tip of his thumb inside. Eskel keened and pushed back, Vesemir's thumb slipping to the first knuckle. "So eager, so greedy." Vesemir twisted his thumb and pulled it back out, pouring more oil into his hand and then slipping a finger slowly into Eskel's body. He took his time pumping it in and out, stretching Eskel's rim well before he added a second finger. It was long, long minutes before he added a third, and more oil. There was no room for pain here, not in this room, not in this moment. Not between them. Slowly, carefully, he added a fourth, and still more oil. Vesemir was about average in length but he more than made up for it with girth, and the last thing he wanted was to betray Eskel's trust and break his calm. 

Calm might not have been the right word, though, with the way that Eskel was trembling from the strain of not rutting down into the sheets. His breath came in gasps, and a thin sheen of sweat had broken out across his body. 

Vesemir pressed a soft, open mouthed kiss with a hint of teeth across Eskel's tailbone as he gently pulled his fingers free. "How do you want me, love, hm?"

Eskel shuddered. He loved endearments as much as Lambert loved to be praised and Geralt liked to be controlled. There was a lot to be unpacked there, Vesemir was sure, but that wasn't his job. His job was to give his Wolves what they wanted, what they needed.

"Like this-gods, like this, I need to feel you, need it, please-" 

Vesemir shushed him gently. "Alright, darling, I've got you, I'm yours, I'm here." Leaning back, Vesemir shucked his pants, tying a supple leather cord around the base of his shaft and balls, and slicked himself with the economy of motion that only comes from practice. In truth, he'd been half hard since Eskel had pressed his lips to Vesemir's neck in the courtyard, but as Eskel had unwound under his hands, he'd felt his own tension ratcheting higher. Eskel hadn't had this tenderness since last winter, true, but he'd at least been out on the road and able to find a warm body looking for a thrill or for coin. It had been months since anyone had touched Vesemir. He knew from experience that neither of them would last long this first time, and they had weeks yet left for more. Still, he wanted to make it good.

He spread Eskel's cheeks and stared for a moment at his stretched hole. Then, taking pity on them both he grasped his cock and slowly, slowly pressed the head into Eskel's body. His mind whited out for a moment, and only his century (fuck, almost two) of experience in controlling himself with an iron will kept him from spilling right then. The body under him was still so tight, so hot, and it pulled him in. He waited for his heartbeat to slow, and then gently rocked deeper and deeper into Eskel to the beat of his own pulse, draping himself across his body when he was root deep. They both took a moment to bask in the feel of skin on skin, and Eskel twisted his head back to offer his mouth and the scarred side of his face for Vesemir to lavish with attention. Vesemir obliged. 

Eskel liked this too, kisses across his face, a hot tongue in his mouth. Later, Vesemir would rub lanolin ointments into his scars to protect the fragile skin from the dry winter air, and lavish them with licks and kisses, but tonight he plundered Eskel's mouth while he ground in tight circles in the younger Wolf's body, feeling him shake and whine. He let Eskel set the pace, and when he broke the kiss Vesemir took it as guidance to pull back, brace his hands on the bed, and make gentle love to Eskel. He pulled back until only the head of his cock was left in him, just pulling at the rim before slamming back in. He knew the angle he needed, more or less, and it took hardly any looking before he found it. Tucking his arms under Eskel's torso in a crushing hug, he was able to both push his hips into the right position and wrap a hand around his cock. Not to stroke, just to hold, the intimacy of the gesture far more important than the friction. 

The Wolf beneath him was letting loose a constant stream of whimpers now, his body practically vibrating beneath Vesemir's. "Soon, precious, you're so beautiful like this, so lovely." Eskel sobbed under him, twisting again for a kiss. Vesemir obliged, nipping at his lips before sucking his tongue while he fucked into him with short, sharp thrusts. He slid the hand not on Eskel's cock up his chest so his palm lay flat over Eskel's heart. Eskel came like that, crying out into Vesemir's mouth, and the clench of his body took Vesemir over the edge too. 

They both took a long moment to bask, Vesemir pressing soft kisses to the back of Eskel's neck and shoulders as he softened inside his body. The sex was important, and it was always fantastic, but the intimacy and connection of touch was what was most important between them. "Thank you." Vesemir whispered into the back of his neck. 

"For what?" Came the sleepy reply. 

"For walking the Path. For doing so with honor. For coming home." Eskel made a happy hum and reached back to squeeze Vesemir's hip. He was barely conscious. With a sigh, Vesemir carefully pulled out of the warmth of his body and rose on unsteady legs to begin cleaning up while the weary Wolf dozed. 

It was good to have his Wolves coming home.


	3. Lambert Comes Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambert returns home for the winter.

Almost a week later Eskel spotted Lambert coming up the trail while patching a leaky bit of roof. He told Vesemir over lunch. They still had another day, and good thing because he still had to prep a stall in the stable, air out Lambert's room, dust, put fresh sheets on the bed (even if he wouldn't use them for a day or so), and a "welcome-home" stew to put on. Eskel had stocked all of their rooms with additional firewood on his third day back, and earned himself a slow blowjob with full eye contact and an orgasm that may or may not have made him cry for his trouble.

The way that Lambert usually paced himself up the trail meant that he'd arrive just in time for dinner, and a hot bath. Sure enough, just as Vesemir was wondering if he should pour two bowls of stew or three he heard the tell-tale hollering of Lambert arriving home and Eskel tackling him to the floor. Three it is. 

He carefully loaded the bowls and bread onto a tray and headed for the dining hall to set the table. Sure enough, there were his wolves, wrestling their way across the floor. Vesemir took his time to finish setting the table to give them time to either tire out or come to an impasse, and then barked a sharp "Boys", ending the tussle there. Lambert scrambled off the floor with a laugh, leaving Eskel in a heap, and raced for his hug. The youngest Witcher was desperately needy, but equally closed off, and he only allowed himself public affection the day he got home and the day he left. 

Vesemir wrapped Lambert in a bone-crushing hug and held a firm hand on the back of his neck. He let Lambert take as long as he needed, and Eskel took his own sweet time getting off the floor and quietly padding back to the table to eat so that he wouldn't interrupt. Eventually, Lambert let go with a deep sigh and clapped Vesemir on the shoulder. "Its damn good to be home."

"That it is", agreed Eskel. 

Lambert took his seat and the three struck up easy conversation, regaling each other with stories from the past year. When the meal was eaten and the ale gone, Eskel rose to clear the dishes so that Lambert could go pack away his bags and Vesemir could draw a bath.

Vesemir had just finished placing the tin of thick grease under the pillows and pouring them each a measure of White Gull (Lambert's preferred drink for this sort of activity) when the man himself entered the room wearing nothing but a blanket as a cloak and pair of slippers. Vesemir snorted and jerked his head at the bath, passing Lambert his glass. They toasted and Lambert threw his back in a single gulp, wincing about it before handing the glass back and crawling into the tub. Vesemir poured him a second one and went to retrieve the blanket from the floor. 

This time Lambert took little sips of his drink in between big moaning stretches and bits of stories -- mostly complaints -- about his year away. Vesemir nodded and hummed where he was supposed to. It wasn't about his input (those stories would come later), but about Lambert's need to fill the silence and have someone actually listen back. Someone to validate him.

Eventually Lambert finished his glass and passed it back to Vesemir so he could start scrubbing. He enjoyed a good soak as much as the next man, but the prospect of slipping into bed and being blissfully unconscious for the next eight or ten hours sounded miraculous. 

When he finished, he scrubbed himself dry, dropped the towel in a wet heap on the floor, and took a running leap for the bed. Vesemir chuckled at his antics, folding the towel across the back of the chair and retrieving the oil. While Lambert's body was different from Eskel's, and the map of scars was different, the knots and tension were much the same. Lambert was also much more vocal, letting out little grunts and moans when it was good. And, as he always did, he passed out halfway through. Vesemir smiled and finished the massage before performing his nightly ablutions. Crawling into bed, he pulled the spare blanket over them before curling around Lambert and letting sleep take him too.

~*~*~

Vesemir woke slowly, uncertain what woke him, but certain that it wasn't something urgent or perilous. He was about to drift off again when Lambert shifted and-ah. Lambert's morning wood rocked against the cleft of his ass again, and Lambert let our a shivery little sigh. Definitely awake then. Of all the wolves, Lambert was the worst at asking for what he needed. Vesemir used to think that perhaps it was shame, or pride, and those played a role, but over the years he'd come to realize that if you presented Lambert with too many choices, he'd become paralyzed over knowing which he wanted. That clever brain of his worked far too quickly until his thoughts came in a storming frenzy. The only way to really get anywhere with him was to stand firm and give him guidance. Right now, all he knew was that he was hard, lonely, and wanting, and he could have Vesemir any way that he wanted. That was a lot of ways. Easier, then, for Vesemir to narrow those choices and let him puzzle the rest out for himself. 

He'd seemed in high spirits last night, so Vesemir had taken a guess at what he might want this morning, and that made it all the easier. Pulling Lambert's arm around him, Vesemir hitched his leg up and back across Lambert's hips, and then reached down and down until his fingers reached the plug he'd inserted the night before. Lambert keened as he realized what was happening, what Vesemir had done for him and Vesemir smiled where he couldn't see it. Two centuries and he still had a few tricks.

The tin of grease was still where he'd left it under the pillows, warmed to a pleasantly slick texture by their body heat. He popped the lid off the tin and passed it back to let Lambert get a good glob of it to grease his cock. Vesemir instead found himself grunting in surprise when two of Lambert's greased fingers entered his body, straight to the third knuckle right away. Not bad, just unexpected. Lambert usually liked to get right to it. The fingers pumped into him, scissoring wide, and Vesemir smiled to himself again. 

"Now Lambert, this is about you and what pleases you. You don't have to worry about me, I know damn well how to take a cock." The fingers paused and Vesemir could feel his brain whirring again. Ah, can't have that. "You're a very good boy, Lambert. So good, checking on me, making sure I'm alright, but I am. This is for you, you've done so well this year and you've earned it."

That did it. The hand came back over his shoulder, fishing for the tin of slick and getting a good handful. Then the hand disappeared and bare moments later there was an arm wrapped under his body to rest a hand on his chest, and the thick press of a cock at his entrance. Vesemir let his eyes slide shut and his muscles relax. Lambert's cock slid deep in one smooth glide, and then his other hand was pressing the inside of Vesemir's thigh to hold his leg up and back and his teeth were latched to Vesemir's shoulder and-

"Are you waiting on my account? So good, so considerate. I'm proud of you, you're a credit to our school, a proper gentleman." Vesemir felt Lambert's cock jerk inside him at the praise. "Alright, then, you've been so patient and good, you can take your reward."

Telling Lambert he could fuck was like telling a horse it could race. He set a frantic pace immediately, mouth working sloppy kisses that were half bite across Vesemir's neck and shoulder while he pounded away with clear enthusiasm and little rhythm. On other days, later in the winter, he'd have skill and poise, he'd be able to take any lover apart so skillfully you might think there was a manual hidden somewhere. Not today, not on his first morning back at Kaer Morhen. 

Occasionally he'd find that spot that made Vesemir's spine tingle with sweet lightening, and the randomness added a pleasant element of surprise. Then the slick hand left his thigh to grasp his cock, his thigh now trapped by a thick forearm as Lambert jerked him wildly. There was no real rhythm to this, either, or perhaps this was like Lambert's footwork in a duel and there was a pattern, but only he knew it. Either way, Vesemir's orgasm took him completely by surprise and he clenched tight around Lambert as he felt his own seed stripe hotly up his chest and across the sheets. Lambert let out a strangled cry and Vesemir could feel him pulsing inside him as his hips stuttered and chased the last of his pleasure, his breath coming in gasps. 

After a long moment Lambert pulled out and carefully unfolded Vesemir's leg from his chest. "Melitele's tits, I always forget how fucking far you can bend, old man."

"That's because some of us actually remember to do our daily stretches." He huffed back as he stood on shaky legs. He glanced back at Lambert, who was lying sprawled on the bed and blinking sleepily. "Old man with your cum dripping down my balls", he grumbled. Lambert giggled at that, and Vesemir couldn't help but smile. It was always easier to smile with his wolves home and happy.


	4. Geralt's Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt comes home, and he isn't alone.

It was almost worryingly late in the season when Vesemir caught sight of Geralt making his way up the trail. He seemed to be coming with someone else, and Vesemir assumed that he must have run into another Witcher on the way up. They're still a ways off, but perhaps that's Aiden, though he doesn't often come up here. Maybe Coen. Either way, his Wolves get pride of place, but they're welcome to his hospitality as well. 

It was another two days before they made it to the keep, and now Vesemir was worried. Two Witchers moving that slowly mean that someone's injured, and he'd checked and rechecked the stock in the infirmary while he'd waited for them to get close enough. Eskel and Lambert had been watching too, so he didn’t need to call them as the pair entered the courtyard. Dinner was on, all hearths were warmed, beds were made, and he'd got his supplies ready. Whatever was wrong with either of them, he's ready to handle it. 

He was not, however, prepared for what greets him. Because nothing was wrong. Geralt greeted him with a laugh and a hug and a human. That's what had taken him so long, there was a human who was -- loud and chirpy and thoroughly besotted with Geralt. His bard, then. He hasn't shut up about him for years, complaining about him at the dinner table at first, mentioning him in more than half his hunts. Last year he'd whispered to Vesemir in the dark of night that he'd missed him, but Vesemir hadn't realized this. That Geralt was going to bring him. 

He's welcome, of course, and Vesemir made a point of welcoming him, bringing Geralt into a firm bear hug and giving the bard -- Jaskier, Geralt said, giving Jaskier a firm handshake and welcoming him to the keep, but he felt wrong footed and more than a little uncertain. His wolves laughed about how they'd mistaken Jaskier for a half-dead Witcher and he held his own with the teasing. Vesemir sent Lambert and Eskel to deal with supplies while Geralt saw to Roach, but then he was left with Jaskier. Alone. To make conversation. 

"I uh. I had thought it was another Witcher on the path."

Jaskier laughed. "Yes they said. Just little old me, though."

Vesemir sank his teeth into the inside of his lip and took a moment. The bard's full attention was. A lot. "What I mean is, I've prepared Geralt's room and another. I wasn't sure what. If. Ah." He's not sure how to ask with tact, but Jaskier is already nodding. 

"You weren't sure if I'd be needing it?" Vesemir breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. "Thank you, that's a tremendous kindness, but no, I uh. I believe Geralt will want me to -- that is. Lodge with him, as it were. But uhm. I suppose we haven't discussed it?" The bard seemed uncertain and Vesemir had no idea about what or how to comfort him.

Vesemir nodded. He had no idea how to proceed. Normally, he'd already be dragging bath water up to his room, readying everything just so, ready to spoil Geralt into a stupor. Even if Geralt had shown up with another Witcher, he'd have turned on the boiler for the bathing room and let that Witcher take a bath there for the first night, and share his bed on the second. But he'd never had a human come to request his hospitality before. He had no template to show him what to do, no idea what steps to take next. In lieu of anything else, he fell back on what he was certain of. They'd need to eat. "Right. We'll let Geralt see to your bags because he knows the lay of the land better than you, and let's you and I get in out of the cold and see how dinner's coming along, yes?"

The bard perked right back up again, like a wilted flower in a vase. "Yes! He's told me so much about your cooking, he's been going on and on-well as much as he ever does, which makes it all the more pointed, yes? Anyway he's been raving about your homecoming stew and how much he misses it, and I've tried a few times over the years to get close, but I'm missing something and I've no idea what, but perhaps you could show me, I mean-" 

The bard kept going and Vesemir followed, feeling strangely like Roach had kicked him in the chest. Well. Wasn't that something to think about later, alone, or more likely never again ever. He led the bard to the kitchen and the chatter just. Did not stop. He nodded and hummed enough to make it seem like he wasn't drowning in the sudden depths he'd found, swept out by the stream of constant noise. The eerie numbness crept through him and his fingers were cold. It felt a little like blood loss, actually. Maybe shock? Maybe shock. Vesemir pulled a demijohn of vodka from the cupboard and poured himself probably more than he should have and knocked it back. _There, that’ll kill any sickness, parasite, or feeling and send it right back to the seven hells it crawled out of_. 

That managed, he turned back the bard, who had, finally, stopped talking. He looked like he might have asked something, but if he had, Vesemir had no idea what. Instead he hefted the bottle and tipped it in question. 

“Please, yes.”

Surprisingly brief, but maybe he’d finally run out of air. Vesemir poured them both more reasonable measures, and brought Jaskier his glass. Jaskier sipped it and made a small pleased sound. “This is quite good. Geralt mentioned you have a still. Is this yours?”

This, this Vesemir could handle. “Yeah, the still and the recipe are original to the school. Took me a while to learn everything and get it back up to muster, but it's about where it needs to be, and it certainly does the job.” He resumed setting up for dinner.

Jaskier nodded appreciatively. He raised his glass, to his lips before pausing and said, “I’m not stealing him from you, you know.” Vesemir was incredibly glad he’d just been setting the bowls down on the counter because otherwise he’s certain he would have shattered them all on the floor. As it was, they made an alarming sound on the counter. The bard nodded with a half smile and moved to stand beside Vesemir. He began to unstack the bowls, as he continued. 

“It took him ages to get used to me, too. You know how to spot a single monster track in the woods at night, but I, dear, I am a performer and a master of my craft - even got some bits of paper saying other people agree. _I_ know how to track a thread of emotion back to a tangled knot and give relief.” He paused here, to turn his body to Vesemir and lean in close, smelling of Vodka and sweat, but also something warm and spicy. “And better than most, I know how to read those cat eyes of yours. I’ve watched Geralt try to hide broken bones and a broken heart, I know what a Witcher in distress looks like. He’s explained it all to me well in advance, well before he ever asked me to come, and then _again_ when he asked me to come, and then about five _more_ times on the way here. I know how this works. I know how badly he’s missed you, and I see how badly you’ve missed him. Don’t go leaping to break both your hearts just because Witchers are terrible at having important conversations. Take him tonight. Remind him that he’s loved. By _you_. And tomorrow, the three of us will figure out the rest. But that’s tomorrow.”

Vesemir turned to look Jaskier in the eyes. He felt strangely vulnerable in a way he hadn’t even known he could, but he could detect no lie in the bard. His eyes were clear, his heartbeat even, and his face was alarmingly open, now that Vesemir thought about it. “Well”, he started. “Well I. Normally. There’s preparations to be made, and I haven’t-.”

Jaskier flapped his hands. “Go, you go do that, I think I can manage to get the bread into and out of the oven and get the table set and then, what, stew straight into bowls, or is there anything to add?”

“No, straight into bowls, and then to the table, but I should be back by then. Make Lambert and Eskel help you with carrying.” With a final pause to make sure that he wasn’t actually bleeding to death in a snow drift and he was, in fact, just experiencing extreme and unprecedented emotional whiplash, Vesemir went to fetch a good bottle of wine from the cellar and then headed up to prepare his room. 

By the time he returned the table was set, his Wolves had washed up, and the hot bread was resting on the counter. Emotionally savvy and he could run an efficient kitchen. With the fear now evaporated, Vesemir began to notice that Jaskier was actually a true delight to have at the table. His banter was quick without being too cutting, his conversation light. He knew when to engage, when to sit back and let the Wolves share stories, asking questions and delighting in the answers. And when it came time to clear dishes, he gave Geralt a soft kiss and demanded that the others help him clean up and walk him to bed “because the castle is huge and I’m not bringing trail rations in case I get lost and die on my way to bed.”

And then it was just the two of them alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended to write a lot of porn but then there were also feelings. Oops? But don't worry, those feelings are all going to be positively resolved, I am in no way an angst writer, nobody has a big sadness axe hanging over them, this house is cathartic aches ONLY


	5. Geralt Comes Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this chapter and the last one, I've had some real world stuff blindside me. So now you get two chapters back to back.
> 
> But!! I have a beta now! All of my love and thanks to the amazing spickerzocker for making this actually make sense <3

They rose almost in concert to head to the kitchen for water, and hauled it up together in companionable silence. When the tub was full and properly warmed, Vesemir set about fussing with oils and mineral salts that he knew Geralt adored. He checked the temperature before stepping back with a nod. Geralt disrobed quickly, folding his things in a neat pile on the chair and hopping into the tub. _That was new_. Maybe Jaskier’s influence. _Certainly not a bad change_. 

His wolves out in the world were very different men from who they were within these four walls. The faces they wore day-to-day weren’t false, but they certainly weren’t complete. All three of them were fierce warriors, bold leaders, the picture of masculine strength. Proper Witchers. Here, though, here they could just be men. Eskel needed romance. Lambert needed validation. And Geralt, the White Wolf, needed to be spoiled rotten and fucked into next week. 

Vesmimir poured them both wine and dragged the padded footstool from his chair to the tub so he could sit comfortably as he began to wash Geralt’s hair. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it normally was, greasy but not tangled. _Also not a bad change_ , he thought. It _was_ good to see his Wolves at their best. You couldn’t get best fresh off the trail, but this was better than any other year. 

He wanted to ask, very badly, about the bard, but Jaskier was right. That was probably best saved for tomorrow. Best not to bring someone else in on Geralt’s first night back.

“He said you'd been looking forward to this.” _Fuck_. It was out of his mouth before he’d really thought about it and now there it was. He did his best to keep his hands moving, to not betray how hard he was kicking himself.

Geralt hummed and roused from his pleasure stupor for a moment to say, “I have been.”

They leave it there, both weighing those words and then Vesemir digs his thumb into the base of Geralt’s neck and he moans loudly into the silence and Vesemir has found his footing again. He knows how to proceed. When Geralt’s hair is finally done, cleaned and combed and oiled to perfection, Vesemir stripped his shirt and moved to wash Geralt’s body. He soaped a washcloth and started with broad sweeps across Geralt’s back and shoulders, down his arms. He takes time to wash between each of Geralt’s fingers, noting that his nails are actually cleaned and neatly trimmed. He takes his time across Geralt’s chest, slow teasing swipes across his nipples and Geralt arches into it with a sigh. 

The cloth dips below the water and he runs it in firm strokes down Geralt’s stomach, straight down to his groin and the crease of his hip. He deliberately avoids Geralt’s hardening cock. Occasionally his wrist brushes it as he swipes past, gently cleaning everything else, before coming back for a few clinical swipes with the cloth. Eventually he moves down muscled thighs and calves, taking his time at Geralt’s feet. Once, Lambert had half joked that it was like rubbing your horse down before stabling them, making sure that every part of them was fit and cleaned for the night, and in truth, it was a little like that. Vesemir needed to know. But also, he needed to _touch_ , to make sure that his Wolves were _here_ and _whole_. And also that there wasn’t anything he might need to tend to later. 

But no, Geralt was fine, better than fine. No wounds, fewer knots that made him flinch. And since this wasn’t about healing his body, Vesemir had more room to focus on his actual pleasure. Wasn’t that a treat. 

When Geralt was thoroughly scrubbed, Vesemir abandoned the washcloth and draped himself across Geralt’s back, hands moving lazily along his skin while Geralt basked. This was good, the contact, the quiet power of him lulled to rest. Long moments later Geralt made a noise of discontent and tipped his head to bare his neck to Vesemir. Time to move on.

Vesemir took a long moment to just breathe in the smell of Geralt’s clean skin and hair, made all the more potent by the humidity of the bath. It was so damn good to have all his Wolves home, to finally be able to unwind and know that they’re safe under his roof, to have them close at hand, and this just confirmed it for him. They could all rest now. He brushed his lips across Geralt’s pulse, teasing him with little puffs of hot breath and gentle almost kisses before he scraped his teeth down Geralt’s neck. Not biting. Not yet. But a promise of more to come tonight. 

Geralt whimpered. Good, but not there yet. When the bath water started to cool, he pressed a slow, sucking kiss to the base of Geralt’s throat, relishing in the broken little sounds it earned him. “Right you, up and into bed.”

Geralt grumbled but he finally stood and stepped from the bath. Vesemir took the warmed towel and dried Geralt with firm strokes, careful around his half hard cock. His hair was almost dry, so Vesemir took a moment to braid it back. Later, after mid-Winter, regardless of what they arranged with the bard, he’d probably ask Geralt to let him play with it a few times. It was deliciously soft when properly cared for, and they both loved the quiet intimacy of it. And truly, no matter what arrangement they reached, that shouldn’t be crossing a line. 

He pushed thoughts of the bard out of his mind as he retrieved the oil and let Geralt crawl into bed. Ooze, more like. He was already fairly boneless, which would make this next bit even better. 

Vesemir was an old Wolf, and while he was amenable to some new tricks, his pattern for massaging was usually the same. By the time he had made it up the inside of Geralt’s thighs to knead at this ass, Geralt was panting with the thrill of anticipation. Vesemir didn’t bother warning or asking, just pulled Geralt’s cheeks apart and dove in tongue first. 

Geralt was a man of deep thought and was often taken for silent. He was anything but silent in bed. Choked moans, shivery sighs, and bitten off half-words filled the room, punctuated with the wet slurps and obscene noises of Vesemir eating Geralt out like a starving man. Geralt writhed, fingers clutching at anything he could get his hands on as he pushed back, desperate for more. Vesemir scraped his beard along the soft underside of Geralt’s cheeks, pulling back to admire Geralt’s slick, pink hole, and dove back in without warning. He knew full well that Geralt could come like this. Would come like this. Geralt was insatiable, and Vesemir intended to get as close as he could to wearing the White Wolf out. 

Without letting up, Vesemir carefully slicked two fingers and then, between one moment and the next, slid them straight into Geralt’s hole. Geralt cried out and pushed back hard, nearly catching Vesemir in the nose, but decades of experience and Witcher reflexes let him sway back enough to avoid most of the force without disrupting his assault on Geralt’s senses. Suckling at his rim, Vesemir twisted his fingers just so, and Geralt _screamed_ as his orgasm blindsided him. 

A good start, but Vesemir was nowhere near done. He kept going, drawing his mouth back as he added a third finger, and then spread them so he could pour oil straight into Geralt’s hole. He was twitching all over, babbling sweet nonsense. It sounded a lot like praise, and _that_ was new, and also certainly welcome. 

Vesemir sat back on his heels and set a new pace. Spearing his fingers forward to slide sharp over that spot that made Geralt shiver, and then slowly dragging them back across it, pulling his fingers apart just a bit to stretch his rim. He glanced up and saw Geralt’s face, tossed to the side, eyes scrunched and mouth slack. He was starting to drool. Vesemir smiled to himself. In truth, that was a huge part of why he’d started braiding Geralt’s hair back before they did this. True, it prevented tangles when they got more active later, but it also kept him from hiding and let Vesemir bask in his handiwork. 

Vesemir poured even more oil and slowly, carefully added his fourth finger, giving them all a wiggle before he pushed them back in. Geralt had gone nearly silent now, twitching and whimpering on his inhales and exhales. Sweat sheened his body, and he was definitely drooling now. _Good_.

He pulled his oily fingers back and used them to slick his cock, giving it a few extra pumps to bring it to full hardness, before tying himself off with his soft leather cord. Geralt’s eyes snapped open and his tongue darted across his lips. He huffed his impatience. 

“Greedy little thing.” Geralt didn’t respond, just huffed again and shuffled his knees under his body to lift his hips. 

Vesemir slid his cock across Geralt’s crack with slow teasing thrusts, earning another huff. He pulled those cheeks apart and rolled his hips languidly, letting the head of his cock glide through the mess of oil and sweat, catching occasionally on Geralt’s rim. Geralt whined and wriggled, trying to impale himself on Vesemir but mostly just teasing himself. Finally Vesemir took pity. Mostly. Slowly, almost torturously, he slipped two fingers into Geralt’s hole to pull him wide, and slipped the thick head of his cock into Geralt’s gaping hole. Geralt _purrs_. When the head is finally in, he slides his fingers out and settles his hands on Geralt’s hips, and pets him gently.

He waits. When Geralt finally opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder, Vesemir pulls him back _hard_ at the same time that he snaps his own hips forward. Geralt’s eyes roll back, and his cries are wanton and obscene. Vesemir does it again, and again. And again, until the tease is too much for even him and he’s chasing that angle that makes Geralt’s toes curl and his muscles twitch. He chants a litany of swears and affirmations. 

When Geralt begins to shake all over, Vesemir finally drapes himself across his back and wraps his hand around Geralt’s cock. That’s all it takes when he’s this far gone, and Geralt comes with a howl that has to echo down to the kitchens at least. The clench of him drags Vesemir over with him, and he doesn’t fight it, burying himself deep and pressing his teeth to the back of Geralt’s neck. 

When he finally, finally comes back to himself, Geralt is already snoring. He has just enough energy to clean them both up and pull the covers over them before he passes out.


	6. Jaskier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier and Vesemir get to know each other better (without clothing).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a world of thanks to spickerzocker for being the best beta and making this actually readable

Vesemir woke to the sound of whispering and a strangely empty bed. He opened his eyes as he heard, “-For fuck’s sake, what if he’s _not_ ok with it? I’m a stranger to him! Just take your eggs and go back to bed, we can worry about this in a few days. Or when he’s awake.”

“I’m awake. And I would like eggs, if there are any.” He sat up, the covers pooling in his lap.

Geralt sighed and pushed the door open further, revealing Jaskier looking sheepish with a tray of breakfast food. “Ah, yes, breakfast in bed for two. I was awake and I caught Lambert trying to burn the kitchen down so I figured I should probably stop him, and then uh, well. I spent last night actually resting, figured you two could use some sleep, and maybe a soft surface to sit on, so.” He wiggled the tray and shrugged. “Breakfast. In bed. Or in the bedroom, however you like it.”

“Set it on the table, then.” The bard jerked into motion, and as soon as he was across the threshold Geralt shut the door. He leaned back against it, fully nude, arms folded. Jaskier set the tray on the table. He startled when he realized that he was now trapped. 

Vesemir rolled his eyes. “I think he’s angling for us to have that conversation sooner rather than later.”

Jaskier sighed. “I’d rather thought you and I would have that talk in the full light of day. In neutral territory, as equals. With pants.”

“You two aren’t going to fuck me with pants on, so you don’t need to talk with pants on. In fact, you’re overdressed. Perhaps you can equalize your footing by taking your pants off.” Geralt looked smug. It was unfortunate that it looked so damn good on him. 

Jaskier looked to be having a moment with himself. Probably he was trying not to scream. If he was still new to sharing a bed with Geralt then he was probably still new to what an absolute _brat_ Geralt could be when he wanted his way. It was nice, always knowing where you stood with him and not needing to suss out what he might want, but on the other hand, you sometimes ended up with your cock out in bed, with a flustered bard trying to make you breakfast. Vesemir took pity. 

“Come here, Jaskier. Geralt, you get started on the food, we’ll join you in a moment.” Geralt pouted, but moved to the table. When Jaskier hesitated, Vesemir patted the bed. The bard moved stiffly, still unsure of himself, but after a moment’s hesitation he sat. His hands danced in his lap, and he looked tense enough he might hurt himself. 

“Right. Well. As I said, I am _not_ trying to take him from you, but. We’re both very important to him, and he’s very important to us, and we both, ah, we both share him- that is! We’re not jealous men, and he says you’ve uh. Operated with a partner before-”

Vesemir took pity on him. “He's a precious princess and he wants twice the attention, yes, I’ve gathered as much.” Geralt made a sound of protest, but Jaskier perked up, so Vesemir plowed ahead. “I assume what you’re concerned about is whether or not I’m willing to share, and I am. I ah- I know he’s got enough attention to go around, and I’ve no problems with some tactical cooperation.”

Geralt grumbled around a mouthful of potato and egg. “I’m not a fucking forktail.”

“You’re the sexual equivalent”, Jaskier shot back. “Well good then, if that bit’s settled, he’s got a list of demands he’s been compiling all year-”

“I wanna watch him take your cock, to start with.”

“Fuck’s _sake_ Geralt.”

The git looked totally unrepentant. 

Vesemir frowned. “Can he?”

“He can, and he’ll love it.” 

Jaskier sputtered. “Well, I’m no slouch, and Geralt’s warned me that you’re big, I’m sure the _taking it_ isn’t the issue so much as negotiating if you’re even willing to _give_ it, because some people have _manners_ Geral- _oh sweet Melitele_ , that’s not a cock that’s a whole pickle jar.”

Vesemir had thrown the covers back and spread his legs and Jaskier was -- Jaskier’s brain appeared to have stopped in its tracks. Vesemir was perhaps a bit below average in length, but in his two centuries of life he’d yet to find a cock thicker than his. Jaskier stared at his soft cock with his nose scrunched and muttered, “I’ve no idea how I’m even going to get that in me.”

“You are a master of the seven liberal arts, give it the ol’ college try”, Geralt called from the table. 

Instead of sniping back, Jaskier nodded to himself. “True. I did graduate top of my class, because I am not, in fact, a quitter.” He met Vesemir’s eyes, his jaw set with determination. “Yes, please, I would like your cock in me, if you’re amenable.”

Vesemir found himself strangely charmed, and wasn’t that baffling. Normally humans took one look at his cock and either panicked and ran, or treated him like a sideshow. Jaskier seemed… He seemed to be genuinely interested though. There was a flush creeping up his neck, his pupils were blown wide, and Vesemir could smell a hot stir of lust from him. He nodded. “Yeah, I can be amenable, if you are.”

“Take your cock out”, Geralt called from the table. 

Jaskier’s eye twitched. “This is your fault, you know. I’ve only just started sleeping with him, these bad habits? I feel very confident blaming you.”

“That’s fair enough. I suppose we could do something to discipline him. Perhaps you _should_ strip down and join me here, under the covers.”

Gearlt made an unhappy sound but Jaskier’s grin was dazzling as he scrambled to get his clothing off and wiggle under the covers as fast as he could. Vesemir had a brief moment to take in all the hair and muscle and long lines of his body before he threw himself into the bed and whipped the covers up over both of their heads with such vigor that they flew up from the bottom and settled around their legs. Vesemir was still sitting up, and looked down at the bard who was grinning so wide it must hurt and practically vibrating with excitement. He lay down facing Jaskier, carefully keeping the sheets over their heads. He assumed it was less about the bard’s zeal and more about teasing Geralt, which was always fun. 

“So. How do you want to uhm. Or? I mean, what do you think-?”

Vesemir took pity on him and leaned in for a kiss. He seemed the kissing type, and Vesemir was not disappointed. Jaskier made a happy little sound and immediately parted his lips. His kisses quickly turned _filthy_ , the right amount of tongue and lips and teeth, and at some point his hands had started wandering. A strong, calloused hand swept up his side, across his back, and then those clever fingers were gripping his ass with a firm strength that shocked him deliciously. Jaskier rolled against him, and Vesemir could feel his arousal pressed to Vesemir’s hip. 

Breaking the kiss, Vesemir leaned back and lifted the covers just enough to get a good look at Jaskier and he was not disappointed. He was, indeed, generously proportional to his height and build. Vesemir glanced back up in time to see the bard, pupils blown and mouth red and spit-slicked, and then Jaskier was diving in to press kisses with just a light hint of teeth across his throat. Jaskier pressed his shoulder and he rolled onto his back, letting the bard straddle him. Jaskier rolled their hips together as he scraped his teeth along Vesemir’s jaw. “I wasn’t sure what your stores up here were like, there’s more oil on the tray, in case-”

In a woosh of fabric the blanket was gone, torn off the bed, and suddenly Geralt was there, kneeling beside them with the half-full tin of thick grease. The both paused to look at him and he shuffled awkwardly. 

“Words, Geralt.” Somehow, Jaskier managed to sound _and_ look imperious, despite being nude and erect, kneeling over an equally nude and erect Witcher.

Geralt squirmed and palmed his cock, and that was _definitely_ something to revisit later. He held out the bottle sheepishly. “I warmed it?”

“And I appreciate that, it was very thoughtful. But what I _don’t_ appreciate is that you refuse to respect us enough to respect our space”. Geralt looked authentically chastened. Jaskier tipped Geralt’s chin up with a finger and made Geralt meet his eyes. “This is new. You’re testing the new boundaries, and I understand that. But if you’re going to act like a brat, you’ll be punished like one.”

Geralt huffed and tried to look to Vesemir for support, but Jaskier jerked his chin back. “No, he’s spoiled you plenty, and he can continue to do so on his own time, but not with me here. Go turn that chair to face the wall. You’ll sit there and listen, but you can’t watch. Watching is for _good_ Witchers who know how to behave themselves.”

Geralt huffed and then lowered his eyes. “Yes, Jaskier.” He handed over the tin and then, with a last puppy-eyed look at Vesemir, moved the chair and sat facing the wall. 

Vesemier looked pleadingly at Jaskier, who only shook his head and ground down onto Vesemir’s cock. “Now, do you want to get me ready, or shall I?”

Vesemir gripped Jaskier’s hip and smoothly flipped them so Jaskier was laying back and Vesemir hovered over him. “If you don’t mind, I think my hands are bigger, and I’ve got the better angle.”

The bard laughed. “Not a hardship, darling.” He spread his legs, displaying an intriguing level of flexibility and offered the tin to Vesemir, who settled it on the sheets within easy reach, but not too close. Then, without any warning, he hoisted Jaskier’s legs over his shoulders and swallowed Jaskier to the hilt. The bard shouted and his hands flew to Vesemir’s hair, but he didn’t tug or push. Instead, he scraped his nails across Vesemir’s scalp while his thighs tensed around his ears, and he babbled. As loud and as much as he was out of bed, he was just as talkative in bed. “Fucking _perfect_ , I’ve never in my _life_ \-- oh, _oh_ darling, oh _Vesemir_ , I-”

Vesemir pulled off with a pop and sat up on his knees, dragging the bard’s hips up with him, and set to work burying his tongue between the bard’s cheeks. Jaskier wailed. He fisted the sheets and his whole body shook as Vesemir worked his tongue past the bard’s rim, working him open until his jaw ached. When Jaskier was reduced to insensate whimpers and little choked sounds, Vesemir finally lowered his hips so they rested in his lap and reached for the tin. It had cooled some, but it quickly warmed in his hands. It was the work of a moment to get two fingers slicked and straight into Jaskier’s waiting hole. Vesemir was rewarded with the sight of his pale, beautiful throat stretched out for the taking as he threw his head back and groaned. Vesemir leaned over him and set his teeth to the base of Jaskier’s throat, only biting when he received a steady chant of “yes” and “please”.

When he pulled back there were tears in Jaskier’s eyes, but his expression was one of pure bliss. On a whim he leaned in and kissed the tip of Jaskier’s nose and was rewarded with one of his brilliant, sunshine smiles. 

As Vesemir added more grease and a third finger, he chanced a look over his shoulder at Geralt. His back was turned, but his head was tipped in such a way that it was clear he was listening to every little sound. When he turned back, Jaskier bit his lip and flicked his eyes to the tin. It took a moment for Vesemir’s brain to catch up, but when it did he found himself grinning back. He scooped out even more grease and slid them back in with an obscene squelch, and Jaskier let out another loud groan. Now that he was listening for it he could hear Geralt’s breath hitch, hear his bare skin shifting over the upholstery, and the creak of the wooden arms as Geralt gripped them tight. _Leave it to a bard to know how to perform_.

A moment’s searching found Jaskier’s spot. He mewled and his cock dribbled when Vesemier pressed his fingertips across it. He could hear the chair creak ominously, and they both smiled as he teased the bard with fleeting little grazes interspersed with rubbing a few longer, firmer circles.

Vesemir took great care in opening Jaskier up. On the one hand, he greatly enjoyed his partners’ enjoyment, and wanted the whole affair to be pain free. On the other, the bard was human, and he’d feel the ache of it for far longer than another Witcher would. Better to make it well worth it and leave him with the right kind of ache. 

Jaskier’s eyes flew open when he began to introduce his pinky. “Not a complaint, I _am_ into the possibilities, but are we _trying_ to get your whole hand in me? Because I’m not necessarily opposed but that’s a helluva first time activity, I’m rather on edge here and I’ve not got a Witcher’s stamina, you know, so-”

Vesemir couldn’t smell fear on him, only a mild anxiety, which was reassuring, and not a hint of pain. “No, but if I’m going to give you the whole ‘pickle jar’ I want you good and ready for it. Though I’m happy to revisit that at a later time.” Jaskier nodded making a little affirmative “ah” noise, and Vesemir carefully teased his pinky in. “You’re doing so well, I’ve rarely met a human who was actually interested in taking me, let alone capable of following through.”

Jaskier huffed. “Well I’m a man with very poor impulse control and a love of extravagance in all areas of life, so no point denying myself.” 

“Of the pickle jar?”

Jaskier’s face scrunched. “And the Witcher who makes love so well our Geralt _pines_ for his touch all summer.” 

He said it so matter of factly, as though Vesemir should assume that Geralt spoke of him during the year. That he missed _Vesemir_ when he was with Jaskier as much as missed Jaskier when he was here. As though this hadn’t just knocked something very askew in his chest. 

Something must have shown on his face because Jaskier’s became unbearably tender for a moment before he jerked a thumb up at the head of the bed. “Up there, sit with your back to the headboard, legs out, and I’m going to blow your damn mind.”

Vesemir retrieved his hand and scrambled to obey. With his back to the headboard he could see Geralt squirming in the chair in the corner. Then Jaskier knelt between Vesemir’s outstretched legs and took his slightly flagged cock into his mouth and Vesemir couldn’t see anything else but those eyes staring up through a haze of lashes and fringe, as though the bard’s tongue had dissolved everything else. “Fuck. I knew bards had to have clever tongues to keep up with the faster songs, but is _this_ what they’re teaching at bardic schools these days?” 

Jaskier pulled back slowly and rubbed the tip across his lips. “Oh yes, that and mastery of one’s breath and soft palate”, and that was all the warning Vesemir got before the bard had shoved Vesemir’s cock as far down his throat as he could manage. It took all his considerable self control not to buck into it, but he managed. His Witchers could suck cock, but not even _they_ went for it with the zeal that Jaskier did. 

Jaskier made it about three quarters of the way down and seemed to be determined to keep going, but Vesemir tapped his shoulder to signal that he should pull off. “Fuck, you’ll kill us both if you keep that up. Let’s climb one mountain a day, shall we?” Jaskier wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and clambered up to straddle Vesemir’s lap. 

“Fair, but we’re coming back to this too. My mother may have raised an airhead, a floozy, and a fool, but she did _not_ raise a quitter.” He reached for the tin but Vesemir stopped him and pulled him into a kiss. Glib as it was, Vesemir knew that it came from somewhere, and he may not have words like Jaskier did, but he could give this. He could kiss this better, smooth this edge, as he did for his wolves. He framed the bard’s face with his hands and kissed him slow and deep, pulled him chest to chest. When the kiss broke, neither pulled back. Instead they rested their foreheads together and Jaskier slowly opened his eyes. There was that softness again. “Ah. Yes, you _are_ quite good at that.”

Vesemir slid one hand to hold the back of Jaskier’s neck, and held the tin for Jaskier to take with the other. Jaskier took the tin and then tipped his head back towards Geralt, raising his eyebrows and wiggling the tin. Not exactly tactical Witcher hand signs, but with a face that expressive, and their minds running circles in the same gutter, it worked well enough. Vesemir nodded. 

“Geralt? Darling?” Geralt stiffened, on full alert. “Sweet thing, I may need a spot of help, and perhaps your expertise.” Geralt shifted but didn’t rise yet. Jaskier glanced over his shoulder, a mischievous glitter in his eyes.

“Come here.” Like an arrow loosed from the string, Geralt scrambled from the chair and shot for the bed. Truly an impressive feat, given his nudity and the violent erection he was sporting. 

Geralt hovered by the side of the bed, eyes wild, hands clenching and unclenching. “What can I do?”

“Well, you’re the expert here, why don’t you get Vesemir good and properly slicked for me, and then perhaps you might be a dear and monitor things back there for me.” Vesemir could see him fighting a smirk. “Quality assurance, have to make sure everything’s going where it needs to.” 

Jaskier passed the tin over and Geralt settled on his knees behind Jaskier. Vesemir looked down as the bard sat up on his knees and saw Geralt’s slick hand reach between Jaskier’s legs and wrap around his spit-slick cock. He felt his heart skip. _Quite the showman indeed_.

When he was generously slicked, Geralt retrieved his hand and gripped both of Jaskier’s hips. “Jas? I have an idea. If that’s allowed?”

Jaskier tipped his head back to rest on Geralt’s shoulder and turned to give his cheek a kiss. “I’m glad you asked nicely. What’s the idea?”

“Wanna hold you open while you drop yourself. I’ll help with the adjustment when you get to the bottom. That’s what we did, the first few times.”

“He’s got a point,” Vesemir added.

“Well, far be it from me to snub Witcher traditions. Have at me, darlings!” He placed his hands on Vesemir’s shoulders and pushed his hips back into Geralt. 

Geralt moaned and visibly restrained himself. Vesemir suspected he was fighting down the urge to slip into the bard himself, but his control won, and with a deep breath he moved his hands down between the two of them and did something that made Jaskier moan wantonly. Carefully, guided by Geralt’s hands, Jaskier finally lowered himself onto Vesemir’s cock. 

Vesemir was torn between wanting to experience this fully and wanting to last. Between the burningly hot clench around him and the firm drag of Geralt’s knuckles where he was holding Jaskier’s rim open, and the way that they both looked -- Jaskier, head bowed, breathing heavily and reeking of lust, Geralt, intense gaze flickering between each of their faces and where they were joined, as though he could brand this into the back of his eyelids to keep forever -- it was a lot for Vesemir to handle all at once. 

Finally, after long minutes of gentle praise and labored breathing, Jaskier settled flush with Vesemir’s hips and Geralt reluctantly removed his fingers. Jaskier stared down at his lap in awe. “Sweet Melitele,” was all he could manage. 

Geralt placed his hands on Jaskier’s hips. “Don’t bounce yet, but if you rock, he’ll hit all the right places.”

“I think that’s just law of averages, dear, he’s got to hit all the right places if he’s hitting _all_ the places.” Jaskier sounded a little hysterical, but he gave an experimental swivel of his hips. His jaw hung slack and he moaned again. “ _Oh_ , well, there we are, aren’t we, that’s. That’s all the places.” He rocked again, slowly finding a rhythm and working his way up to a bounce that made him gasp. 

Vesemir gripped his waist, just above Geralt’s hands and hung on for dear life. It made sense, distantly, that a musician would have a solid sense of rhythm and tempo, when to build it and when to break it, and it made sense that a man that could sate Geralt of Rivia’s appetites would know more than a thing or two about taking the lead, but that hadn’t quite prepared Vesemir for the way Jaskier bounced and rolled and _clenched_ like a man possessed. Lithe muscle flexed as he leaned his weight back against Geralt’s chest to let Geralt nip bruising kisses up his throat, and never once did he break his rhythm.

He was suddenly intensely grateful that they hadn’t been the first ones home this season, because if this is how he’d broken his almost year-long celibacy he would have utterly embarrassed himself with how quickly he’d have come. As it was, he found himself hurtling towards an orgasm far sooner than he’d anticipated. Desperate not to be the one who broke first, he gripped the bard’s cock and thumbed the head. 

That’s all it took.

Jaskier’s body bowed sharply and he screamed, shooting in thick ropes between them. Vesemir hadn’t thought that he could clench any tighter, but he _did_ as he ground down, collapsing into Vesemir’s chest and for a moment, Vesemir’s vision whited out as he came.

When he could finally catch his breath and feel his legs again, Vesemir tipped Jaskier’s face for a kiss. Those shockingly blue eyes stared at him through tear stained lashes, but Vesemir still couldn’t smell anything but lust and sex and contentment. “Good?”

Jaskier wheezed, and Geralt translated. “Overwhelmed, but he’s good.” He still shifted and Vesemir could see he was still rock hard, his balls drawn tight to his body. 

On a whim, he gestured to the general direction the tin of grease had gotten dropped. “Go on then, you’re ours too, come right where we’re joined. You’re part of this, we may as well smell like it.” 

Geralt didn’t even bother lunging for the grease, just gripped himself with the hand he’d used to slick Vesemir and tugged a few quick passes over the head of his cock. He came with a snarl and Vesemir could feel his hot spend painting across Jaskier’s ass and his balls. Geralt panted like he’d just run the Killer and he couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight of his mark across the both of them. 

When Geralt had finally caught his breath he stood on jellied legs and stumbled to the jug of water near the hearth and brought them a warm, damp cloth to clean up. He helped Vesemir lift Jaskier’s limp body off of them, and reverently cleaned them both up. _Revelation after revelation_.

Finally, after a bit of maneuvering to keep them more or less out of the wet spot, they settled into bed, curled around each other with Jaskier between them. He’d made a few incoherent noises when moved, but as soon as he was horizontal he’d dissolved into snuffly little snores. Vesemir stroked his hair, and Geralt threw an arm over him to rest his hand on Vesemir, his eyes soft and his face open. 

“Alright then. What’s this about you having a list?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fun fact about me: if you put comments in the comment box and hit submit, filthy Witcher porn falls out like the world's most alarming gashapon. Or you can come say hi to me at FairyTrashMother on tumblr.


	7. Art & Artistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier has a very good idea and Eskel, Geralt, and Vesemir realize that he might just be a genius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to update once a week on Tuesdays. We'll see if that sticks. 
> 
> I've been told by several people that my sense of humor took them by surprise, and to that I say: good >:)

Jaskier eventually roused enough for them to chat for a bit and make it down to lunch, though Geralt snagged a pillow from his own room to bring to the table for Jaskier’s poor, abused ass when he re-appeared with his change of clothes. Lambert sniggered at him, but Jaskier kissed Geralt sweetly and sniped back to challenge Lambert’s ability to make him limp the morning after, and peace settled. Just wolves figuring out how the new member fit into their pack.

It was only reheated stew, but Vesemir had worked up quite an appetite _and_ never gotten to eat his eggs, and he cleared two bowls before he’d even really thought about it. Jaskier, somehow, looked refreshed and dewy like he’d taken a nap rather than passed out in a fucked out stupor. If he hadn’t been so intimately acquainted with _every_ part of him, Vesemir might suspect he was an incubus or some such, but no, he was apparently just a very sexually accomplished human. Maybe a little bit of elf blood, but certainly nothing suspicious.

Vesemir sat back and let the chatter at the table flow around him, dipping in and out of the conversation where he was needed, but mostly letting his Wolves tell their stories. He still wasn’t entirely grounded, but now that he knew where they all stood he was able to actually unwind and enjoy this. Jaskier might live out on the path with Geralt, but Vesemir recognized what he was. Geralt had offered words and terms but Vesemir didn’t care what the words were, he recognized it. Jaskier was someone like him, someone who tended to his pack, someone who tended to the needs of his people. _Good_. Vesemir would tend his Wolves gladly and without complaint -- _With minimal complaint_ , he admitted in the privacy of his own mind -- but having someone else to lean on this winter would be a delight. And to have someone to conspire with after mid-winter, well. Perhaps they would start their own list. 

Speaking of -- Vesemir cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Gentlemen, we need to have a conversation about this winter.” 

Lambert and Eskel tensed, and Jaskier clicked his tongue. “No good conversation has _ever_ started like that, but I swear, this is a good thing.”

Vesemir tipped his head in deference. “Fair enough.” He took a deep pull of his ale. “Jaskier and I have had a chat about this winter. He’s Geralt’s first and foremost, but he’s not interfering with how any of us want to spend time with Geralt.”

“Right, he said as much,” Lambert said, glancing to Jaskier for confirmation. 

“He has _also_ ,” Vesemir continued, “offered to give comfort to all of us as well.” 

This was met with shocked silence. Then all at once Lambert choked out, “He’s human,” at the same time that Eskel said, “But he walks the Path.”

“Both true,” Jaskier nodded, “But in life we must work out what pleases us, and in truth, this is what makes me happy.”

“Fucking Witchers?” Lambert might have been trying for sneering, but his bafflement shone through. 

“Being snowed into an ancient keep full of ancient secrets with sweeping vistas without and four gorgeous, horny men within?”

“Four horny _Witchers_ ”, Lambert stressed.

“Oh shit,” Jaskier drawled. “Thanks for the update. I never would have noticed.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Look, I know that a lifetime or two of dealing with the worst kinds of people have convinced you that that’s either a drawback or a grotesque selling point for fetishists and weirdos, but your profession meshes with _my_ profession, and then separately I, a person, like many kinds of people, including men people, which you are, and I like beautiful people, which you are, and I like people who like _me_ , and you have time to decide if that’s you or not. If not, no hard feelings, but Geralt and Vesemir sure are. And some of the _very_ intensely sexy things that _Geralt_ wants this winter will require that at a minimum we communicate and interact in a pants-off sort of situation, so consider that as well.”

There was a long pause as everyone digested this information. Jaskier seemed very adept at simply throwing words down, not as a gauntlet but more like a textbook on a lecture hall desk -- a lot of them, all at once, stating rather than challenging, but certainly demanding attention. This was the state of things, and now they all had to move on from there. 

Eskel licked his lips and raised his hand like a schoolboy afraid that his question would make him look foolish in front of the class. Vesemir tipped his head in acknowledgement, and Eskel lowered his hand, asking, “If I _am_ a man who is interested -- what, or maybe. How?”

Jaskier turned his brilliant smile on Eskel and scooted down the bench to get closer, inadvertently slipping off his pillow, landing his ass on the bench. “Well- AH _dicks_ , sweet Melitele’s precious cunt _ah, ow_.” 

Geralt fought a smirk and carefully settled Jaskier back on the pillow, settling an arm around his waist to hold him still. “Now he knows he’ll be on you the minute he’s regained the ability to use anything below his belly button. I just ask that you don’t bruise his ego too badly, he pouts terribly when his come-ons fall flat.”

Jaskier’s face wriggled its way through what appeared to be the full spectrum of human outrage and he made a noise like a dented tea kettle. “My lines do _not_ fall short.”

Geralt’s eyebrows made an escape for his hairline. “You compared my skin to _moldy cheese_. As a compliment. While _inside me_.”

“No!” Jaskier bounced and wiggled with outrage. “No I said specifically bleu cheese, a _delicacy_ -.”

“Jaskier, it’s _moldy cheese_ -!”

Vesemir took a fortifying breath and stared across the table to Eskel, who looked slightly overwhelmed. Lambert’s brow furrowed. “Wait. Wait!” The couple paused and turned to him. “Pale with dark veins. Are you saying you fucked him while he was hopped up on Witcher potions?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Well it was a victory romp after a very rough hunt, and by the time they wear off he’s usually knackered, so there’s a very finite window where we can, ah, reaffirm our lives, as it were, before he needs to nap.”

Lambert looked dubious. “And you’re _not_ a fetishist.”

“ _No_ , I’m not, but as I said, I love beauty. Beauty isn’t all symmetrical features and smooth skin. Roses have thorns and the mountains are jagged and unforgiving, but we paint them time and again, and we sing of the sea even though it hides unfathomable mysteries and could kill us quick as thought. The world is full of wonder and joy if you unclench long enough to realize you don’t have to limit yourself to what everyone else likes.”

Eskel’s breath hitched too softly for Jaskier to catch it, but Geralt caught it. “There’s a thing he did for me once, I think you’d like it, Eskel.”

Jaskier patted his arm excitedly. “Oh I know just what you mean, and _yes_! Vesemir, if you could help me get the supplies together I have just the plan for the four of us, you’ll love it, the both of you, I can already tell.”

It actually took a day and a half of puttering in the kitchen and moving furniture around before Jaskier was satisfied and sent Geralt to prep Eskel and bring him to Vesemir’s rooms. Eskel entered in nothing but a sheet, his body cleaned and his ass already stretched, and found Jaskier and Vesemir dressed in loose pants and shirts with the sleeves rolled up. They knelt on the floor near the fire with an assortment of bowls and brushes. Between them and the fire was an ocean of sheets and blankets, furs and pillows. Near the foot of the bed was something tall and covered in a sheet. 

Before Eskel could ask, Geralt was chivvying him towards the nest on the floor and stripping his clothing as he went. When Eskel hesitated, Geralt tugged gently at the sheet. “Come on, trust us, this’ll be so good.”

Eskel took a deep breath and dropped the sheet. Jaskier’s breath hitched and he moaned quietly. He patted the sheets in front of himself. “Come here, sweet, come lay right here by me on your back. Get good and comfortable.”

Uncertain but unwilling to back out, Eskel laid out as directed and arranged himself with his head on a pillow and Jaskier to his side. Geralt laid next to him and took his hand, and Vesemir moved to Geralt’s other side, bracketing them in. 

Jaskier picked up one of the bowls and one of the brushes. “First, let me start by saying that this isn’t face paint. Geralt thought that the first time, and while that’s another fun thing to do, that’s not what this is. This is body paint, for that gorgeous body of yours. I know Witchers don’t go in much for fine draperies over their even finer bodies, but sometimes it's nice to look pretty and then that makes you feel how pretty you really are, and also-” Here he swooped the soft bristles of the brush lightly across Eskel’s nipple and making him gasp, “Sometimes a bit of attention and sensory teasing can be fun. Thoughts?”

Vesemir was already dipping a brush in a bowl and dragging it across Geralt’s chest. He made a sound that might have been a giggle if it hadn’t been strangled in infancy, and Vesemir cracked a smile, swooping in for a second pass. This time it definitely was a giggle, but his nipples peaked and his cock stirred. Eskel looked back to Jaskier and nodded. “Just not the face.”

“No. Collarbones to groin though?”

Eskel thought about that and nodded. Jaskier looked delighted. “Fantastic, darling, I’m so pleased.” He really did look and smell it, too. “Now, no thoughts, no worries, just focus on how this feels, and don’t take my terrible art as a slight to the canvas.”

Jaskier chattered as he set to work, something about art classes at Oxenfurt and painting fruits and nudes, different techniques and paint preparations. As interesting as it was, Eskel had the distinct impression that he wasn’t supposed to answer, and instead let it wash over him, humming an acknowledgement occasionally. The brush dragged pleasantly across his chest, first in long slow strokes, then little quick dabs and flicks, then long strokes again elsewhere. Eventually Jaskier’s chatter tapered off and he began to hum softly, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration. Eskel turned his head to look at Geralt, and found Vesemir equally invested in his painting. Geralt, for his part, had his eyes half closed and looked completely boneless. His eyes flickered to Eskel’s and he squeezed his hand, shooting him a soft smile. 

Eskel squeezed back and consciously relaxed himself. He was safe, he trusted Geralt and Vesemir, and if they trusted Jaskier, he could relax. He was home, and this was something Geralt liked and wanted to share with him too. Eskel let his eyes slip shut and he drifted, tethered only by the steady heat of Geralt’s hand, and the seemingly random touches of Jaskier hands and brushes. The whole room smelled like Vesemir and faintly like the other Wolves and Jaskier, and he could smell and hear the fire crackling in the hearth, and distantly he could hear the wind outside, the soft clatter of the bowls. 

After the initial teasing around his nipples, Jaskier’s brush strokes felt like he was actually trying to paint something more than tease Eskel. As he worked across his chest and down his stomach, Eskel drifted. He was aware of his body, but his mind began to float in a warm haze that smelled of his pack and sounded like Jaskier’s humming. It wasn’t until Jaskier changed his angle to get a detail right and his wrist brushed Eskel’s cock that Eskel realized he was hard. And he _was_ hard, he realized. And now that he’d thought about it, even the non-erotic touches of the brush, and Jaskier’s pinky steadying his hand were suddenly deeply arousing. 

His eyes flew open and Jaskier glanced up at him looking pleased. “A few finishing touches, my love, and it’ll be as perfect as I can do.” Vesemir passed Jaskier a stick of charcoal and he flicked a few quick lines across Eskel’s body, and each one shot straight to his cock. 

Jaskier sat back on his heels and surveyed his work. He looked pleased, and when he looked over at Geralt and Vesemir he made a happy sound. “Oh, Vesemir, that’s magnificent!”

Eskel made to sit up but Jaskier put a hand to his shoulder. “Not yet, love, I want you to see each other together.” Eskel had no idea what that meant, but suddenly Geralt was scrambling up onto his knees, back straight, and arms folded behind his back to face the draped thing at the end of the bed. With slightly more caution, Eskel mirrored him, hesitating before folding his hands back like Geralt had done, gripping his elbows. 

Vesemir stood between them and scrubbed his nails across both of their scalps in silent praise as Jaskier danced over and then, with a flourish, whipped the cover off of-

A huge standing mirror. 

Before Eskel could flinch or protest, his eyes caught on the paint decorating his torso, and any objections died on his lips. From collarbones to groin he was decorated in flowers. Red roses in full bloom, sprigs of five-pointed nightshade flowers, sweeping morning glories and feathery ornamentals he couldn’t even name in purple and pink, and little yellow buttercups twined throughout, all erupted from the mass of leaves and a sweeping bow across his groin. Eskel leaned in as he noticed the little butterflies on his shoulder. He thought it should look garish or overly feminine, that it should be cause for offence, but in truth it was just- “Beautiful.”

He hadn’t realized he’d breathed the word until Jaskier dropped to his knees and plastered his body to Eskel’s back. “Oh good, I’m so glad.”

He heard a sound from next to him and glanced over in the mirror. Geralt looked like a page from a bestiary. A griffon swooped across his chest and shoulder, doing battle with the dragon that crouched on his stomach, its tail lashing across Geralt’s groin, the tip hidden somewhere between his thighs. Vesemir knelt behind him, his pants unlaced and pulled down just enough to get his cock out, and he was teasing the tip across Geralt’s entrance. 

Jaskier’s breath ghosted across his ear. “So stunning. An artist must choose their canvass so carefully, and look at you both, absolutely perfect.” He traced the base of Eskel’s cock and Eskel felt his hips jerk without his conscious control. Beside him he could hear Geralt groan as Vesemir sank into him, and then Jaskier’s lips were on his neck and he was meeting Eskel’s eyes in the mirror, his bright blue gaze all-consuming and Eskel melted back into him, widening his stance in a silent request. Jaskier rubbed his clothed erection against Eskel’s bare cheeks and pressed a kiss to the hinge of his jaw. “I work in words, darling, sounds. I need to hear you ask for what you want, sing the praises of what you love, _scream_ for me.”

What Eskel wanted was for Jaskier to make slow love to him. What intended to _say_ was “Fuck me”, but somewhere between his sex drunk brain and his too thick tongue the words tripped over themselves and what he asked instead was, “Love me.”

Jaskier’s breath caught and he wrenched Eskel’s head back to kiss him deep and slow. When he pulled away, Jaskier’s eyes glimmered with something fae and feral, his right hand over Eskel’s heart. With his left he groped in the nest of blankets for the fresh tin of grease Vesemir had brought out just for this night. He broke eye contact long enough to make sure he was slick and line himself up, never moving his hand from Eskel’s heart. 

Eskel sought his eyes in the mirror, and they watched each other raptly as Jaskier sank into Eskel. Eskel saw the intensity, the bliss on Jaskier’s face as Jaskier watched him. Eskel saw his own face fall slack and open, unable to hide anything, and the way that Jaskier drank that in, greedy for it. When Jaskier was flush against him, he wrapped the other hand around Eskel’s hip and pressed a chaste kiss to Eskel’s jaw. Holding his eyes in the mirror, he pulled out and thrust back into Eskel in one sharp movement. Eskel moaned, and Jaskier did it again. 

And again. Once more. 

He picked up speed, keeping his strokes long and punishing, and never once did he look anywhere other than into Eskel’s eyes. Sweat stuck his fringe to his face, his body shook, and the entirety of his already intense self focused on watching Eskel fall apart, babbling and moaning to the rhythmic slaps of their flesh. Neither noticed when Geralt came, or when Vesemir followed. Neither noticed as the other two sat back to watch. None of them noticed the sounds of Lambert frozen in the hallway outside. The world narrowed down to the slap of skin on skin and Eskel’s punched out cries as he got closer. 

Finally, as his cries turned to please, Jaskier let go of his hip and stripped Eskel’s cock, twisting his fingers over the head just so and Eskel curled into himself as he came with a roar. Jasker guided him down to the floor and quickly straddled him, stroking himself furiously until he came with gasp over Eskel’s spent cock. Both looked shocked by the intensity of the evening as they caught their breath, and both were a little surprised to remember that they weren’t alone when Vesemir came and offered them a damp cloth. 

Jaskier gave himself a quick wipe and grinned down at Eskel. “Had to sign my masterpiece.” He gestured to where he’d spent himself, and then giggled to himself as he began to wipe Eskel clean with tender strokes. 

Finally freed from the intensity of Jaskier’s gaze, Eskel turned his head to look for Geralt. The other Witcher lounged nearby and gave him a fond smile. He nodded. “Just about.”

Jaskier hummed in inquiry, and Geralt clarified. “He wants to know if it’s always that intense with you, and it just about is.” 

Jaskier looked sheepish. “Well you keep coming back.” He stroked Eskel’s hair back from his face. “How do you feel, love?”

Eskel had words, he knew that. There were a million of them. For now all he could manage was, “Hn.”

“Great, now look what you’ve done. You’ve fucked him so hard he’s turned into Geralt.” Vesemir’s smile betrayed him though. “Come on, let’s get them into bed, we can wash the rest of this up later.”

Jaskier pulled back the sheets and Vesemir and Geralt helped Eskel into bed before joining him. Snuggled into a pile of Wolves, with Jaskier at his back, Eskel drifted into sleep thinking that this might be the best winter in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fun note: my irl partner also sometimes slips up and tries for sexy and ends up at sexy goose neck instead, and while he has never called me bleu cheese there have been some truly unfortunate attempts at compliments, and it took everything in me not to use some of the very real things he's said to me.
> 
> As always, your comments and kudos give me life, and you can find me on Tumblr at FairyTrashMother


	8. In Which Lambert Proves He Has Good Ideas (Sometimes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Lambert has good ideas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Every Tuesday", I said  
> "Get fucked", life said
> 
> Anyway this chapter is unbetaed, so its all my fault

Vesemir had known that he missed having other carers about the keep, but he hadn’t realized all of the little things he’d missed about it.

In the morning, while Eskel and Geralt made their way to the baths, Vesemir had collected the bowls of homemade paints and the brushes while Jaskier had collected the bedding and tidied up, and then they’d dragged the lot of it down the kitchen and set to work cleaning. Jaskier hummed while he scrubbed down the sheets and Vesemir poured them hot glasses of fruit compote while the bowls soaked and this morning’s porridge bubbled, and he had time to sit at the table and enjoy the moment. It was companionable, two people united in their purpose, working together to make things run smoothly. Orderly. Peaceful. 

He realized he’d jinxed himself as soon as he thought it, and a moment later the door to the kitchen was kicked in. Lambert strode through with a snarl, eyes searching the kitchen until they landed on the bard, who was in the middle of hanging the sheets near the hearth. 

“ _ You. _ ”

Jaskier froze like a prey animal and his eyes flicked around the kitchen from exit to exit. In a heartbeat he’d clearly calculated that he couldn’t get to any of them faster than an angry Witcher and decided to try to talk his way out of it. 

“Good morning, Lambert, I’ve just finished the bedding, if you’ve got anything else you need washed-”

Lambert snarled and advanced. Vesemir leapt up to interpose himself, recognizing trouble. “Lambert,  _ what _ -”

“You’re on my shitlist too, old man.” Lambert rounded on Vesemir. “How could you?” He’d clearly meant it to sound challenging, but he couldn’t hide the broken note of hurt. 

“How could I  _ what _ , Lambert?” 

“Let him hurt  _ Eskel _ , of all people.”

He felt Jaskier go tense behind him. Hurt? Vesmir’s mind flipped through the night before. Other than a pulled muscle or maybe bruises on his knees, Vesemir couldn’t think of a way that Eskel could have been  _ hurt _ . Unless-

“Oh no, did he drop?” Vesemir asked, turning to look at Jaskier. 

“I bet he fucking did the way you treated him! I walk into the fucking baths and there he is, scrubbing his chest raw over the bruises-”

“Bruises?!” Jaskier squawked. He looked stricken and confused.

“Bruises!” Lambert advanced, wagging his finger. “Fuck all big bruises, all over his chest, and do you  _ know _ how bad a bruise has to be for it to still be yellow and green the next fucking day? Fucking  _ bad _ on a Witcher! Eskel comes here for  _ love _ and  _ safety _ , there’s enough bad on the path, and  _ you _ come up-”

“Wait. Waitwaitwait.  _ Yellow and green _ ?” 

Vesemir’s mind caught on a heartbeat later and he snorted a laugh at the same time that Jaskier sagged like his strings had been cut. 

“Lambert, those aren’t bruises, they’re stains.” Lambert’s scowl deepened, and Vesemir gestured to the still soaking bowls and the cleaned brushes drying on the table. “We mixed up some special paints out of spices and flowers, they must have stained his skin.”

Jaskier checked his hands, which were vaguely tinted along his fingertips and his right palm, now that he really looked. “Oops.”

Lambert still looked dubious. “And how did the paint end up all over his chest in splotches then? Pretty sure it's supposed to go on the  _ face _ .”

“Well they were a very lovely bunch of flowers last night. Probably should have washed them off and not let it set all night. So, it is our fault, but they’re most certainly not  _ bruises _ .”

The wind had gone out of Lambert, but he was still confused and full of belligerent energy, and he had to direct it somewhere, so he asked, “Why the fuck were you painting  _ flowers _ on a Witcher?”

“Same reason my lute has flowers on it,” Jaskier answered easily. “I like adornment on beautifully crafted things I can draw magnificent noises from with clever fingers. But seriously, people can sing of your beauty your whole life and that’s one thing, but it's a whole other to feel it and see it in yourself, so I painted him in flowers and fucked him in front of a mirror while he watched. I perhaps could have been more careful about whether the paints would stain, but my main concern was getting the colors right and making sure they didn’t reek or give anyone a rash. It'll wash off in a few days I’m sure.”

Crisis averted, Vesemir ladled out porridge for the three of them. He set them on the table and as he passed Lambert on his way to his seat he took a moment to grip Lambert by the back of the neck. “You did good, looking out for them, but you all’s well. You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to them, not here, not in winter. And you heard them last night, that wasn’t pain.”

Lambert grunted and pushed his porridge around the bowl with his spoon. Jaskier finished hanging the sheets and came to join them, and moments later Geralt and Eskel clomped in to join them. Geralt dropped onto the bench beside Jaskier and Eskel slid in across from him and immediately began to play footsie.

“I’ve a bone to pick with you,” Geralt grunted. 

Vesemir snorted. “Yeah Lambert said.”

“Lambert saw his sea serpent?” Eskel giggled.

Lambert’s brow furrowed. “His  _ what _ ?”

Eskel cackled. “The paint from the dragon’s tail smeared when Vesemir wanked him off and now his cock’s stained green.”

Jaskier snorted his compote and Geralt patted his back while he sputtered and glared at Vesemir. “Its  _ green _ Vesemir, a good three quarters of it is  _ green _ .”

Eskel had sunk so far into the depths of his laughter that his shoulders were shaking but no sound was coming out. Jaskier dabbed at his watering eyes with his sleeve. Lambert looked delighted. 

“Ya know, they say that the best way to get plant stains off skin is moisturizing and exfoliation.” Lambert said, his eyes glittering with mischief. “So just get some oil and-” he folded his fingers loosely and mimed jerking himself off. “Should take care of it in no time.”

“He’s not wrong,” Vesemir mumbled into his porridge. 

Eskel pounded his hand weakly against the table and took a shuddering breath. Vesemir could smell his laughter-tears. Eskel’s lips fought to form words as he rocked and wheezed. Finally, he choked out “Greeny weeny-!” before collapsing altogether onto the table in a fit of giggles, as Lambert and Jaskier guffawed along with him. 

Geralt struggled to maintain a scowl, but Vesemir could see the humor sparkling in his eyes. 

\---

They eventually settled and finished breakfast, moving on to their chores, but Vesemir found himself distracted. His mind kept flitting back to Geralt’s list of requests, because now that it was in his head and he wasn’t simply handling requests as they arose (he chuckled at his own innuendo) and could instead act proactively, he was getting  _ ideas _ . Geralt had indicated that a level of surprise would enhance some of the activities, and Vesemir was fairly certain that this would be one of them. 

One by one, Vesemir snuck the others away from their chores to run his idea by them and get their approval. As expected, Eskel gave him a blanket “yes”, Lambert required very little coaxing, Jaskier had some brilliant additions, and Geralt didn’t suspect a thing. 

Dinner was a quiet affair only because of the high quality of the food. When Jaskier had learned that they ate only what they could bring, hunt, or preserve for a whole winter he’d bullied Geralt into splurging on more varieties of dried herbs and spices than usual, and it was well worth it. When the dishes were cleared, Jaskier brought out his lute and Eskel and Lambert coaxed Geralt to lay with them on the rug by the fire.

All was going according to plan. Jaskier played slow, peaceful songs and Eskel and Lambert let their hands wander until Geralt’s eyes were falling shut and his legs were falling open. He arched his back on the fur rug and let out a contented sigh, opening his eyes when the music stopped and Jaskier didn’t immediately move to the next song. 

Eskel was stretched out on his left, his hand up Geralt’s shirt, fingers teasing around his nipples, occasionally giving them gentle pinches. Lambert was splayed to his right, hand tracing up and down his parted thighs. Vesemir was standing over him, a bottle of warmed oil in his hands, and Jaksier had set down his lute and was approaching with a length of silk cord that Geralt hadn’t seen him retrieve.

Jaskier licked his lips. “Vesemir had a very good idea. Well, Lambert had a good idea, which inspired Vesemir, which inspired me, and-”

“Gunna take tie you up and take turns on you.” Lambert cut in. He gave Geralt’s thigh a firm squeeze.

Eskel rucked Geralt’s shirt up enough to let him lap at Geralt’s nipples as Lambert got to work on unlacing his breeches. Geralt stretched his arms over his head and crossed his wrists for Jaskier to bind him. 

“Well,” Jaskier amended, “Lambert was the one who realized that oil and friction might be just the thing for your, uh, situation, and it was Vesemir who thought that this would be an excellent opportunity to scratch this one off your list, and I’m the one who realized that truly we’d need help-”

“Tactical cooperation,” Eskel added from where he was nipping little kisses into Geralt’s chest across where the griffin had been the night before.

“Yes, so we put our heads together and decided-”

“To put our  _ heads _ together.” Lambert finished. He pulled Geralt’s mostly-hard, slightly green cock free from his breeches and sucked the head into his mouth. Geralt gasped and his hips bucked, but Eskel threw an arm across his hips to hold him down. 

Jaskier settled at Geralt’s head and gently brushed his hair back from his face. “We also thought that perhaps there was one more element you might enjoy.” He held up a length of silk that looked like it might be the broad belt of his bathrobe. “We thought it might be fun if we blindfolded you.”

Geralt’s eyes fluttered. “ _ Yes _ ”, he gasped. 

Eskel slid an arm under Geralt’s shoulders to help him sit up enough for Jaskier to get his shirt off and tie the belt around his eyes, and together they lowered him back onto the furs. 

“There’s also the matter of Lambert’s reward for being so good this morning,” Vesemir added. He sat cross legged on the furs next to Lambert, who tongued lazily at the head of Geralt’s cock and still managed to preen under Vesemir’s words. “Lambert mistook the paint stains for bruises and thought only to protect the two of you. He did well, and he should be rewarded. So tonight, Lambert gets to go twice.”

Eskel paused his assault on Geralt’s collarbones to give Lambert a heated glance.

Lambert pulled off Geralt’s cock with a pop. “Don’t get a big head about it.” He pointed at Eskel meaningfully with Geralt’s cock.

They stared at each other across Geralt who was gasping and trembling already. Finally Eskel gave him a soft smile before returning to lapping at Geralt’s throat. Lambert went back to laving his tongue across Geralt’s straining erection in a way that he knew was both so much and not nearly enough. He tugged Geralt’s thighs a little wider and Vesemir tugged Geralt’s pants the rest of the way off before settling in the vee of his legs, and setting to work opening Geralt up. 

All too soon Geralt’s heart rate began to spike and his thighs clenched. Lambert gave him one last long, slow suck and pulled off with a noisy pop. He tapped Vesemir’s knee and Vesemir retrieved his fingers and shuffled back. 

Geralt grunted and his hips twitched, but he quickly caught his breath. Licking his lips, Geralt settled back into the floor and stretched himself out, waiting for whatever came next. 

Lambert nodded to Vesemir and they silently changed places. Lambert slicked himself and pressed slowly into Geralt’s well stretched hole. Both men sighed in relief as Lambert bottomed out. He took a moment to catch his breath, hands stroking lightly over Geralt’s inner thighs, light enough to just tickle and make Geralt squirm on his cock. 

Geralt gasped and clenched and Lambert almost saw stars. 

“Fuck, how are you still so fucking  _ tight _ every time?”

Geralt clenched again. “I have faith in your ability to fix that.”

Lambert chuckled lowly and nodded to Vesemir, who wrapped both oiled, calloused hands around Geralt’s length and began to tease. Lamber pulled almost all of the way out and then slammed back in, angling to make Geralt gasp. He repeated the motion four, five times, and then re-settled himself so that he was kneeling and then wrapped his arms around Geralt’s legs, pulling them together and flush to Lambert’s chest, bending Geralt into an “L” shape, then pushed back in and set a sharp, staccato pace that made Geralt whine and gasp.

He nodded to Vesemir, who released Geralt’s cock and sat back. Lambert sat up, and dragged Geralt’s hips higher by his legs, letting him hammer relentlessly at that spot that made Geralt’s toes curl -- literally. His fingers clenched and unclenched in Jaskier’s lap, and his toes curled and his heart raced as pleasure pooled and he hurtled towards the edge. 

Lambert buried himself deep and tipped over his own edge. He peppered kisses along Geralt’s legs as Geralt whined and wriggled, and carefully returned Geralt to the furs, setting his legs down gently. 

Lambert considered the scene for a moment, at Geralt’s cock weeping on his toned stomach, at his own seed dripping from Geralt’s hole, and then nodded to Jaskier. The bard stripped and made his way to kneel between Geralt’s thighs. Jaskier knelt on his heels and pulled Geralt’s hips into his lap. Vesemir passed Lambert the oil and slipped a pillow under Geralt’s lower back, then moved to take Jaskier’s old position at Geralt’s head to stroke his hair. 

On a whim, Lambert oiled his hand, but instead of passing the oil off to Jaskier, he instead wrapped his slick hand around Jaskier’s cock and stroked him to full hardness.

Jaskier’s breath stuttered as he stared down at Lambert’s hand on his cock, at Gerat splayed open for him as Eskel and Vesemir watched with hungry eyes. Lambert carefully lined the head of Jaskier’s cock up to Geralt’s slick, used hole and Jaskier nearly embarrassed himself by coming right then and there. Slowly Jaskier pressed forward, first through Lambert’s tight grip, and then into the sucking heat of Geralt’s body. 

Lambert slowly uncurled his fingers enough to let Jaskier bottom out, both of them staring at where Jaskier was joined to Geralt. 

“Fuck”, Lambert breathed. “This was a good idea. This was a very good idea.”

As Jaskier began to work up to a good rhythm, Lambert oiled his hand generously and set to work playing with Geralt’s cock. He teased his fingers across the head, interspersed with long, firm strokes from root to tip, and then back to rubbing his oiled fingers just under the head of Geralt’s cock. When Geralt’s heart would spike too high, Lambert would yank his hands back and let Geralt squirm and gasp, jerking his hips desperate for any contact but unable to find relief. 

The second time it happened Geralt clenched down so hard he tripped Jaskier into his own orgasm. Lambert clucked his tongue and rolled Geralt’s sack in one hand while he thumbed a nipple with his other. “So greedy, look at you.” 

Jaskier nodded to Eskel, and they traded spaces. 

Eskel slid home with a sigh and Jaskier stretched out next to Geralt and turned Geralt’s head for a deep kiss that was tender for all its filth. Geralt shuddered and whined when Lambert turned his attention back to Geralt’s cock again, and Eskel wrapped Geralt’s legs around his hips to pound into him. 

“Beautiful, Geralt, so perfect all laid out for us like a feast. And Eskel looks so stunning, indulging himself, cutting loose.” Jaskier whispered the words into Geralt’s parted lips, but they were all listening. “Oh and look at him, the way that gorgeous hair sweeps across that noble brow, how those muscles glisten with sweat, flexing while he fucks you. If I hadn’t already had him I’d be jealous. I still might be, he hasn’t had me back yet.” 

Eskel flashed him a look filled with promise. “Still early in the winter, we have plenty of time.”

Jaskier leaned over Geralt, whispering across his parted lips. “Tell us, love, tell us how he feels.”

Geralt’s mouth hung slack and it took him several tries to say anything. “Good”, he gasped finally, “So fucking good.” And then he couldn’t  _ stop _ babbling, whined praise and please for more.

Geralt was nearing his own peak again when Eskel finally came, his hips stilling as he spilled deep, deep in Geralt, and Lambert let go of Geralt’s cock. Geralt thrashed, whining, he didn’t move his hands from where they rested, bound, in Vesemir’s lap. Vesemir bent over Geralt’s face, inhaling deeply and confirmed that yes, he could smell the salt of tears. He looked to Jaskier, but rather than appearing concerned Jaskier looked  _ delighted _ and peppered Geralt’s face with little kisses, cooing gently to him as Eskel pulled out and laid next to him again to bury his face in Geralt’s neck and lay a hand on his chest. 

“How about it, pretty boy? Huh? You done? You need to cum that bad?” Lambert asked, kneading Geralt’s thigh. 

Geralt gasped and shook his head violently. “More.”

Jaskier sighed with delight and pressed more kisses to Geralt’s face and chest and Lambert rose to take his place between Geralt’s spread legs. “Ok, almost there gorgeous, you’re being so good, almost there.”

Lambert left Geralt’s cock alone while Vesemir slid carefully into him, eased by a generous amount of oil and cum, and fucked him with slow, even thrusts, pausing occasionally to just grind as deep as he could go and Geralt began to beg and tremble again. His cock leaked and twitched and tears flowed freely as he swore and begged for more. Eskel leaned in and began to lick the precome from Geralt’s stomach, dipping his tongue into his bellybutton to catch what had pooled there. Vesemir stroked his hair from Geralt’s face, whispering soft praise back to him, and Jaskier and Lambert smoothed their hands down his body like they were gentling an animal. Just as Geralt looked like he might be close to his peak Vesemir stilled, spilling deep with a bitten off moan. 

They’d agreed that it would be best if he took a later turn, and he was known as a patient man with excellent self control, but sitting with Geralt’s mouth inches from his hard cock, watching the others take their sweet time fucking Geralt, their cries in his ears and the smell of them all in his nose had sorely tested Vesemir’s resolve. And now, fucking into Geralt’s hot, wet hole, squelching with the others’ cum, knowing he could finally add his own, watching three sets of eyes watch him hungrily, knowing that come morning Geralt would smell like the whole of their pack, Vesemir felt his control slipping. His orgasm punched through him and he found himself bowed over Geralt. He took the opportunity to mouth wet kisses across Geralt’s slack lips.

Vesemir saw stars as Geralt clenched reflexively, seeking fulfillment. He pulled out, gasping as though he’d run a race. 

“Fuck, three cocks and still so fucking  _ tight _ , you’re an absolute wonder.” He stared down at Geralt’s puffy, cum drenched hole and his weeping red cock. Geralt reeked of lust and the salt of tears, but no pain or distress. “One more?”

Geralt sobbed and slurred something that sounded like Lambert’s name and “more”. Lambert once again took his place between Geralt’s thighs, let Vesemir take his spot and check that his hands still had circulation and moved to take his turn. Lambert raked his nails up Geralt’s abs. “Oh, pretty boy, always gotta show off how much more you can take than the rest of us, huh?” He pressed a wet kiss to Geralt’s shoulder. “Pride of the School.” It should have sounded mocking, but it didn’t. Lambert’s voice only held a tender awe as Geralt’s body yielded to his, as Geralt sobbed and shook and begged for him to move. 

And move he did. Nobody was sure if he was trying to spare Geralt the wait or simply chasing his own pleasure, least of all himself. 

He thought that having cum already would mean he could last, that it wouldn’t feel so urgent, but he burned with need. The air was thick with the smell of his pack, their lust and their spend, and Geralt was so hot and wet and  _ open _ . He could hear the filthy slap of skin on skin, and the wet squelching of his pack’s spend being forced out of Geralt’s hole. It was almost too much. 

Feeling his pleasure wind tight and the precipice appear before him, Lambert nodded to Vesemir, who wrapped a hand dripping with oil around Geralt’s cock and jerked him fast and tight. 

Geralt screamed. He back arched. Hot, white ropes of cum shot across his chest and into his hairline. 

Vesemir didn’t stop. He slowed, barely, but he didn’t stop, and now Geralt was truly shaking and Lambert hitched his hips a little higher-

Geralt came again. This time he gasped like a drowning man as his cock dribbled on his chest. 

Lambert didn’t stop. 

Neither did Vesemir. 

Geralt’s third orgasm finally tipped Lambert over. Geralt’s was dry, and Lambert’s was decidedly not. As Vesemir gently laid Geralt’s spent, softening cock against his belly, Lambert pulled out and gently settled his legs back against the floor, pulling the pillow out from under his back so he could lie flat. Jaskier was carefully removing the blindfold, and Eskel had brought a cup of cool water. 

Geralt looked a mess. His hair was disheveled, he was covered in sweat and cum, his eyes bloodshot and puffy, to say nothing of the state of his lower half. Lambert and Vesemir went about cleaning Geralt off, swiping away the mess and pressing chaste kisses to his skin. Jaskier and Eskel whispered gentle praise, massaged his newly freed hands, and fed him sips of water. When they were satisfied that he was as cleaned as he could get without a bath and they had all drunk their fill, they settled back down on the furs, twining around each other so everyone could lay at least a hand or a leg on Geralt. 

Lambert found himself spooned by Jaskier, the bard’s arms around his chest and his leg thrown over Lambert’s to rest on Geralt’s calf. It wasn’t bad, the bard smelled like sweat and man, but also like all of them, and Lambert wasn’t going to complain about a firm, muscled chest on his back to keep the cold off as they all wound down. 

“We’re not getting him up to bed, are we,” came Vesemir’s voice from somewhere over Geralt. It wasn’t a question, more a resigned acknowledgement. 

“He’s already asleep,” Jaskier yawned from behind Lambert’s shoulder.

"But his cock's not green anymore," Lambert added. Jaskier nuzzled his shoulder, like he'd gone for a kiss and thought better of it. Lambert squeezed his hand.

There was a little more shuffling to get more comfortable, some sleepy kisses exchanged as they drifted off next to the fire. 

Piled on warm furs, reeking of his pack and contentment, Lambert decided that perhaps “tactical cooperation” with Jaskier wouldn’t be a bad way to pass a winter. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please know that it took immense self control for me to not name this chapter "the green monster".
> 
> If you have anything you want to add to Geralt's list, you can always come say hi to me in the comments of on Tumblr, where I am also @FairyTrashMother.
> 
> Also, thank you all for commenting and kudos-ing, it really does mean the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm FairyTrashMother on tumblr too, so if you want to come yell, or maybe help me make this thing actually readable, come say hi!


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